


Keith's Comfot

by orphan_account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post S2, i'm here for emo keith, miss me with that langst shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-02 23:45:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13328952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: i figured after writing all that shance ihadto write some sheith i wasfamished





	Keith's Comfot

**Author's Note:**

> i figured after writing all that shance i _had_ to write some sheith i was _famished_

Keith wasn’t progressing through the stages of grief properly. 

He’d progressed the initial shock and denial alongside the others. There had been a short stage of anger, snapping at the others, bristling at the mention of Voltron. He once threw a punch at Lance because he wouldn't shut up about him taking charge. But there was almost no stage of bargaining; nothing could bring him back, yet Keith couldn’t quite get that which left him stuck in the fourth stage, depression.

It was affecting everyone. Keith was in a constant state of sorrow. He didn’t eat with them, didn’t train with them, didn’t do anything. He locked himself in his room, or in other various parts of the castle where the others couldn’t find him. He hardly slept and when he did, it was fitful and often short lived.

The one and only source of comfort was found only after the Paladins had forced him out of his typical places of solitude and he was scrambling for a place he could be alone. That’s how he found himself in the hanger of the black lion, staring up at the fantastic beast and trying desperately to keep down the sob that was threatening to rip out of his throat. He shouldn’t be here, this was _his_ place. Keith being here was disrupting the image that he was still here. If Keith acknowledged this, then he would also have to acknowledge the fact that he was really gone. 

With shaky, uncertain steps, the man softly made his way to the machine. He laid his palms against the metal. It was warm. And maybe this was what at last drew the cry from his mouth. He pressed both palms into the warm metal and hung his head and cried. He could hear the echoes of his sobs ricochet back to him, crash on deafened ears. It was a good thing the others were spread out around the castle. He stayed like that until his throat was beginning to feel sore and he was able to catch enough of his breath to stand. When had he crumbled to the floor anyway?

Scrubbing at his eyes and pulling his fingers harshly through his hair, Keith entered the lion. It felt wrong; it felt so wrong. This wasn’t his place. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Almost every molecule of his being was screaming _get out, get out, get out. this is Shiro’s, this is his, what are you doing, get out!_ But there was that little bit, that small part of his that was becoming increasingly comfortable. Yes, this was Shiro’s and therefore, his presence was still there, like a shadow. 

Keith’s hand ran along the walls of the creature as he padded his way into the control room. Reaching the threshold of the room, he had to hold back another wave of hot tears welling in the corners of his eyes. This was where Shiro’s presence was the strongest. His eyes traveled slowly over the dead controls of the room. This was where Shiro led ~~them all~~ him. This was where Shiro saved ~~them all~~ him. This was where Shiro ~~lived~~. 

Keith almost suddenly felt like he was violating something private and yet, simultaneously, he was feeling increasingly peaceful. It was like Shiro was still here, in this tiny cockpit, only him and Keith now.

Keith ran numb hands over the leather of the pilot’s chair. It, like the metal outside, was still strangely and pleasantly warm. Keith let out a trembling breath. He rounded the chair and before he could stop himself, he was crumbling to his knees. He pressed his forehead into the arm of the chair and suddenly he was crying again, drawing great big gasps of air into his lungs. He cried out to a phantom that wasn’t there. _Why, why, why did you leave? Where are you? This hurts. This hurts too much. I miss you. Why did you leave me?_

“Why!?” Keith gasped for air. He hadn’t realized he’d been shouting. His throat burned even more now. It was a good burn. He felt as though all his tears had dried up. A weight had been lifted from his shoulders and instead settled in his bones. He was exhausted, nights plagued by insomnia finally catching up with him.

Shifting so that his head was now lying to the side of the front edge of the seat, Keith gazed at the dead right hand side of the consoles until he couldn’t keep his eyes open.  
He woke up groggy and disoriented-- a sign he’d slept without interruption-- no nightmares. He wasn’t sure if that made him more sad or more calm, but he stayed in the lion, crying for another few hours. No one made comment of his red rimmed eyes later on in the day. Maybe they noticed and didn’t feel like saying anything. Or maybe they didn’t care. _They’ve gotten over Shiro’s disappearance,_ Keith thought bitterly. _They didn’t love him the way you did,_ another part of his brain supplied less bitterly. 

And so things resummed. They trained harder, worked stronger, defeated whatever meager bad guy some planet or another needed defeated.  
Every night, Keith would make as if going to his room. Every night he almost convinced himself to veer right. But he always went left. And he always found himself in the cockpit of the black lion.

It was like a comfort blanket-- and he hated that he even had to use that analogy. He wasn’t a child; he didn’t need a comfort blanket or stuffed animal or pillow.   
But that’s what the cockpit became.

Keith’s comfort.


End file.
